30-09-2025, 11:44 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
SOMEWHERE IN GREECE
The room still carried the scent of passion, the Mediterranean breeze brushing past the thin white curtains. Wrapped in tangled sheets, Anjana stretched against Daraaksh’s chest, her lips curving into a sly smile.
"You know" she murmured, her voice low and sultry,
"I’m seriously considering making this… us… something more than just stolen nights"
Daraaksh chuckled, pressing his palm against her bare shoulder.
"Anjana" he said with a teasing bite,
"You must be far too lost in your pleasure to forget you’re already married. Or have you rewritten the vows in your head?"
She tilted her face up to his, eyes glittering mischievously.
"Ritesh?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"He was never important. I never loved him. He’s a convenience, a name on paper. Nothing more"
She traced a finger down Daraaksh’s chest.
"You, on the other hand, make me feel alive"
For a moment, his smile faded, replaced by sharp curiosity.
"Then tell me, why all this plotting? Why meddle with Sonarika and Vikram’s lives? Why orchestrate games with Meghna to ruin Sonarika’s marriage? You’re cunning, Anjana, but what’s the root of it?"
Her expression hardened, her tone cutting with the weight of old wounds.
"Because everything goes back to my father. Prakash Bajaj never saw me or my sister as anything more than burdens. He betrayed my mother, crushed her spirit, poisoned Shekhar into becoming a chauvinist clone of himself—and that path ended in blood when Shekhar’s wife killed him. I want it all back. Every ounce of dignity my mother lost, every insult we swallowed. I’ll strip my father of his empire, piece by piece, until BajajCorp is mine"
Daraaksh’s brow arched.
"And you’re not doing that by turning your brother into a pawn? You’re using Vikram whether you admit it or not"
"No"
She said firmly, sitting up straighter, sheets slipping slightly as if to punctuate her conviction.
"Vikram is not like my father. My mother raised him, I molded him into the man he is—kind, loving, different. But my father wants him to inherit the business, walk the same path Shekhar did. And I won’t allow it. I want him bound to Sonarika, exiled from BajajCorp, free to build his life with her and his hotels. That way, I take everything, and he loses nothing. Meghna’s obsession with Sonarika is her own; One that will never be fullfilled because I will be protecting them without her knowledge. I’m only ensuring Vikram and Sonarika’s bond so that he stays happy with his life and away from my father’s influence"
Something in Daraaksh’s eyes flickered—admiration, or perhaps fascination with that spark of loyalty in her ruthless scheme. He shifted closer, brushing a hand against her cheek.
"You surprise me, Anjana. For all your venom, you protect him still" He paused, voice darkening.
"But tell me, what of my motives? Do you know why I hunger for Hemant’s downfall?"
Her lips curved in curiosity.
“Enlighten me.”
He inhaled deeply, his tone low and simmering with rage.
"Hemant destroyed my bloodline. He slaughtered my father, my brother, my brother-in-law, and left my uncle crippled for life. But I don’t want revenge on Hemant Kumar the husband, the doting father. No—I want to drag back the man he buried. Michael King. The gangster, the vigilante. To punish him as Michael, not as Hemant. And to do that, I must strip him of Sonarika—his tether to humanity—then force him into the world he abandoned. Only when he bleeds as Michael King will I crush him. Only then will he feel the agony I carry every waking day"
Anjana studied him, noticing the way his voice shook, the fire in his eyes burning dangerously close to obsession. She touched his face with a slow, seductive smile.
"You’re getting far too worked up" she whispered, sliding closer until her lips brushed his.
"Perhaps you need another distraction before your fury consumes you"
Daraaksh exhaled, the tension in his muscles softening as her warmth pressed against him. With a low growl, he let the rage slip from his shoulders, surrendering to her touch once more. And as the night deepened over the Mediterranean, they lost themselves again, vengeance and desire entwining like the sheets around their bodies.
AT AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
The hall was a cavern of shadows, its vaulted ceiling stretching high above where chandeliers of steel hung unlit, leaving the glow of projectors and holographic displays to paint the air. Siddharth Mehta stood at the center, dressed in a tailored black suit, his voice calm but his eyes betraying the storm within.
"Gentlemen"
He began, tapping the console as the cityscape of Mumbai appeared, fractured red lines marking key smuggling routes.
"Our hub—our crown jewel—has been compromised. The handlers, the street liaisons who ran the narcotics pipeline, are gone. Eliminated. Whoever did this wasn’t some rival gang. They were professionals"
His words echoed into the silence, every ear tuned to him.
From the elevated seats, men and women of the AZRAEL Syndicate shifted uncomfortably. Murmurs rippled like static. Siddharth pressed on, his tone sharpening.
"You all know what this means for me. My father, Hansraj Mehta, has already anchored the Kohinoor off Goa indefinitely. He fears exposure of the gold channels that run through your network. If Mumbai collapses, it will drag Regalcorp’s operations down with it. And I will not let my family’s legacy be branded weak"
His jaw clenched as he turned to face the council.
"But understand this—what happened there isn’t just a local skirmish. This is something… bigger"
A slow, deliberate clap rang out, breaking the tension. From the corner, a tall, broad-shouldered man rose, his wolf padding silently at his heel. Victor Tarasov, head of the Tarasov Crime Family, his presence enough to silence the room.
"You are right, Junior Mehta" he said in his thick Russian accent, stepping toward the light.
"Bigger than you imagine"
He placed a small drive on the console. With a flick, the footage began to roll on the screen—a convoy of SUVs moving along a dusty stretch outside Western Express Highway at Mumbai. Suddenly, the sky tore apart with the sound of rotor blades. A black gunship helicopter descended, cannons streaking. The vehicles exploded like fireworks, bodies flung into the dirt. Gasps erupted across the chamber.
"Dilawar’s convoy" Tarasov said coldly, his eyes locked on the carnage.
"Attacked not by rivals. But by something far worse"
He adjusted the footage, enhancing the blurred frame of the helicopter. Slowly, the image cleared until the marking came into view—a sword flanked by wings, etched on the gunship’s hull. The hall fell into a stunned hush, followed by sharp whispers. One Syndicate boss rose to his feet, voice quivering,
"Impossible… that sigil…"
Siddharth’s face hardened. He pointed at the screen.
"Whose mark is that? Tell me"
Tarasov turned, his wolf baring its teeth as though echoing his master’s disdain.
"That" Victor growled,
"Is the seal of a King. Michael King. Once, he was your Syndicate’s shadow. A vigilante who dismantled cartels, hunted men like us across continents. Men of AZRAEL bled to bury him back in 2007. He was supposed to be dead. Forgotten"
He jabbed a finger at the glowing symbol on the projection.
"But this… this means he lives. And worse—he has claimed Mumbai as his kingdom"
The chamber erupted. Voices shouted over one another—fear, anger, disbelief. Siddharth slammed his fist against the console, silencing them.
"If he is alive" he said through gritted teeth.
"Then tell me how I can neutralize him. Name the price, Tarasov. My family cannot afford a ghost from the past undoing decades of empire"
His words carried desperation masked in arrogance, the kind that comes when power is slipping away. Tarasov studied him with a predator’s patience before answering.
"Neutralize him? You do not neutralize Michael King. He is not a man you buy, bribe, or break. He is a storm. And storms cannot be caged"
He leaned closer, his voice a chilling growl.
"But know this—if that sigil flies again over Mumbai, then the city is no longer yours. It is his. And if it is his kingdom…"
He paused, letting the weight of silence drown the room.
"…then war is coming to those shores. A war that will change the fate of Mumbai forever"
END OF CHAPTER 24
The room still carried the scent of passion, the Mediterranean breeze brushing past the thin white curtains. Wrapped in tangled sheets, Anjana stretched against Daraaksh’s chest, her lips curving into a sly smile.
"You know" she murmured, her voice low and sultry,
"I’m seriously considering making this… us… something more than just stolen nights"
Daraaksh chuckled, pressing his palm against her bare shoulder.
"Anjana" he said with a teasing bite,
"You must be far too lost in your pleasure to forget you’re already married. Or have you rewritten the vows in your head?"
She tilted her face up to his, eyes glittering mischievously.
"Ritesh?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"He was never important. I never loved him. He’s a convenience, a name on paper. Nothing more"
She traced a finger down Daraaksh’s chest.
"You, on the other hand, make me feel alive"
For a moment, his smile faded, replaced by sharp curiosity.
"Then tell me, why all this plotting? Why meddle with Sonarika and Vikram’s lives? Why orchestrate games with Meghna to ruin Sonarika’s marriage? You’re cunning, Anjana, but what’s the root of it?"
Her expression hardened, her tone cutting with the weight of old wounds.
"Because everything goes back to my father. Prakash Bajaj never saw me or my sister as anything more than burdens. He betrayed my mother, crushed her spirit, poisoned Shekhar into becoming a chauvinist clone of himself—and that path ended in blood when Shekhar’s wife killed him. I want it all back. Every ounce of dignity my mother lost, every insult we swallowed. I’ll strip my father of his empire, piece by piece, until BajajCorp is mine"
Daraaksh’s brow arched.
"And you’re not doing that by turning your brother into a pawn? You’re using Vikram whether you admit it or not"
"No"
She said firmly, sitting up straighter, sheets slipping slightly as if to punctuate her conviction.
"Vikram is not like my father. My mother raised him, I molded him into the man he is—kind, loving, different. But my father wants him to inherit the business, walk the same path Shekhar did. And I won’t allow it. I want him bound to Sonarika, exiled from BajajCorp, free to build his life with her and his hotels. That way, I take everything, and he loses nothing. Meghna’s obsession with Sonarika is her own; One that will never be fullfilled because I will be protecting them without her knowledge. I’m only ensuring Vikram and Sonarika’s bond so that he stays happy with his life and away from my father’s influence"
Something in Daraaksh’s eyes flickered—admiration, or perhaps fascination with that spark of loyalty in her ruthless scheme. He shifted closer, brushing a hand against her cheek.
"You surprise me, Anjana. For all your venom, you protect him still" He paused, voice darkening.
"But tell me, what of my motives? Do you know why I hunger for Hemant’s downfall?"
Her lips curved in curiosity.
“Enlighten me.”
He inhaled deeply, his tone low and simmering with rage.
"Hemant destroyed my bloodline. He slaughtered my father, my brother, my brother-in-law, and left my uncle crippled for life. But I don’t want revenge on Hemant Kumar the husband, the doting father. No—I want to drag back the man he buried. Michael King. The gangster, the vigilante. To punish him as Michael, not as Hemant. And to do that, I must strip him of Sonarika—his tether to humanity—then force him into the world he abandoned. Only when he bleeds as Michael King will I crush him. Only then will he feel the agony I carry every waking day"
Anjana studied him, noticing the way his voice shook, the fire in his eyes burning dangerously close to obsession. She touched his face with a slow, seductive smile.
"You’re getting far too worked up" she whispered, sliding closer until her lips brushed his.
"Perhaps you need another distraction before your fury consumes you"
Daraaksh exhaled, the tension in his muscles softening as her warmth pressed against him. With a low growl, he let the rage slip from his shoulders, surrendering to her touch once more. And as the night deepened over the Mediterranean, they lost themselves again, vengeance and desire entwining like the sheets around their bodies.
AT AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
The hall was a cavern of shadows, its vaulted ceiling stretching high above where chandeliers of steel hung unlit, leaving the glow of projectors and holographic displays to paint the air. Siddharth Mehta stood at the center, dressed in a tailored black suit, his voice calm but his eyes betraying the storm within.
"Gentlemen"
He began, tapping the console as the cityscape of Mumbai appeared, fractured red lines marking key smuggling routes.
"Our hub—our crown jewel—has been compromised. The handlers, the street liaisons who ran the narcotics pipeline, are gone. Eliminated. Whoever did this wasn’t some rival gang. They were professionals"
His words echoed into the silence, every ear tuned to him.
From the elevated seats, men and women of the AZRAEL Syndicate shifted uncomfortably. Murmurs rippled like static. Siddharth pressed on, his tone sharpening.
"You all know what this means for me. My father, Hansraj Mehta, has already anchored the Kohinoor off Goa indefinitely. He fears exposure of the gold channels that run through your network. If Mumbai collapses, it will drag Regalcorp’s operations down with it. And I will not let my family’s legacy be branded weak"
His jaw clenched as he turned to face the council.
"But understand this—what happened there isn’t just a local skirmish. This is something… bigger"
A slow, deliberate clap rang out, breaking the tension. From the corner, a tall, broad-shouldered man rose, his wolf padding silently at his heel. Victor Tarasov, head of the Tarasov Crime Family, his presence enough to silence the room.
"You are right, Junior Mehta" he said in his thick Russian accent, stepping toward the light.
"Bigger than you imagine"
He placed a small drive on the console. With a flick, the footage began to roll on the screen—a convoy of SUVs moving along a dusty stretch outside Western Express Highway at Mumbai. Suddenly, the sky tore apart with the sound of rotor blades. A black gunship helicopter descended, cannons streaking. The vehicles exploded like fireworks, bodies flung into the dirt. Gasps erupted across the chamber.
"Dilawar’s convoy" Tarasov said coldly, his eyes locked on the carnage.
"Attacked not by rivals. But by something far worse"
He adjusted the footage, enhancing the blurred frame of the helicopter. Slowly, the image cleared until the marking came into view—a sword flanked by wings, etched on the gunship’s hull. The hall fell into a stunned hush, followed by sharp whispers. One Syndicate boss rose to his feet, voice quivering,
"Impossible… that sigil…"
Siddharth’s face hardened. He pointed at the screen.
"Whose mark is that? Tell me"
Tarasov turned, his wolf baring its teeth as though echoing his master’s disdain.
"That" Victor growled,
"Is the seal of a King. Michael King. Once, he was your Syndicate’s shadow. A vigilante who dismantled cartels, hunted men like us across continents. Men of AZRAEL bled to bury him back in 2007. He was supposed to be dead. Forgotten"
He jabbed a finger at the glowing symbol on the projection.
"But this… this means he lives. And worse—he has claimed Mumbai as his kingdom"
The chamber erupted. Voices shouted over one another—fear, anger, disbelief. Siddharth slammed his fist against the console, silencing them.
"If he is alive" he said through gritted teeth.
"Then tell me how I can neutralize him. Name the price, Tarasov. My family cannot afford a ghost from the past undoing decades of empire"
His words carried desperation masked in arrogance, the kind that comes when power is slipping away. Tarasov studied him with a predator’s patience before answering.
"Neutralize him? You do not neutralize Michael King. He is not a man you buy, bribe, or break. He is a storm. And storms cannot be caged"
He leaned closer, his voice a chilling growl.
"But know this—if that sigil flies again over Mumbai, then the city is no longer yours. It is his. And if it is his kingdom…"
He paused, letting the weight of silence drown the room.
"…then war is coming to those shores. A war that will change the fate of Mumbai forever"
END OF CHAPTER 24
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